


Voice is Numb

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:05:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry dug his fingers in the boys' pocket, fingertips brushing over what felt like leather. He pulled out a wallet, a smile forming on his face. He popped it open, taking the twelve dollars he had and stuffing it in his own pocket before flipping through the ID's. Name: Louis William Tomlinson. Age: 22. Date Of Birth: December 24, 1991.</p><p>Or, Harry's an insane murderer and Louis's just the boy that he kidnaps because the voice tells him he couldn't kill this one and Louis somehow changes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voice is Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, idk if I could finish this cause I'm already working on a story. But I want to finish this so we'll see. I was going to write it more into one big one shot but I'm tired and I'm unable so save notes on my android. Msybe the second chapter will be the last. Anyway, thank you for reading aha.

Harry's watching her from across the lunchroom; the girl with soft brown hair and brown eyes, whose nose is stuffed in some book. She seems lonely, Harry thinks. When she reaches over her book to get her juice box (she's like sixteen, what is she doing still drinking from purple juice boxes?), her sleeve slides down, exposing red cuts. She's obviously suffering.

 

When the bell rings, Harry watches her get up, throwing her trash away and stuffing the book under her arm and throwing her backpack over her shoulders. Harry follows her. She's walking out the back doors, her head hung low as people yell insults and laugh at her. Harry follows her out of the back door, trying to make it not suspicious to other students nor the girl. She's walking fast, Harry wonders if she has anywhere to go.

 

Before she turns the corner of the school, Harry grips the cold object in his oversized sweater pocket. Do it, no one will miss her. You'll make her life easier, do it. The voice was back, the voice that ordered Harry to kill this specific girl. He does. Pulling the gun out and pointing it at the girl before shooting, the bullet going through her back with force it knocks her to the floor. Luckily, no one knows who murdered 15-year-old, Kristin Evans.

 

Harry's twenty. He's also crazy, he could admit to himself. He knows that someone who kills another human would feel guilt, despair or simply regretful. But Harry didn't, he loved seeing people with their own blood on their bodies or pooling around them. He loves seeing people plead and beg and "I have a family! Two little girls! They can't go on without a mom, please!" and bang, the woman was dead. He likes to know that he could end the life of someone at just the pull of a trigger.

 

He ran away from what was left of his home when he was seventeen, right after he killed that Kristin girl. He walked 20 miles until a kind person picked him up in their Volkswagen, driving for hours until Harry shot the man and kicked his limp body out of the car before driving off to London, where the car broke down just 5 miles on the outskirts.

 

Now, he's somehow traveled to LA. The city in America where people could be missing for days and no one would notice. He probably killed about two hundred and twelve people in the past three years (the voice said that they were arrogant people who deserved to die), but it was just an estimation. It surprises him how no one managed to find him, he considered himself lucky, for now that is, that he shouldn't think much about not being caught because the cops or FBI or what-the-hell-ever could just break down his door and arrest him for 30 years. He decided tonight he would go on a spree, after being clean of killing for almost three weeks, he assumes he deserves this after all.

 

He's at a pub, not touching any alcohol, instead looking through the small crowd of people. His eyes are hooded from the dark room with only neon green and hot pink lasers dancing around the wall and people.. His eyes land on a girl who wore a tight black dress. His hands slipped in his sweater pocket, feeling the pistol intact. The girl smiled at him before striding over, her hips swaying from side to side.

 

"Hi," she yelled through the loud music, leaning in to Harry's ear. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning down to kiss Harry's neck. Harry's hand went to her hips, pulling their crotches together. "Why don't we go somewhere else?" This girl is desperate, the voice told Harry, let her suck you off and then shoot her between the eyes. Harry nodded, taking the girls' hand and leading her to what he assumed were the back doors. He shoved through some drunk bodies, ignoring the glares from people. He stood corrected as they arrived to a dark, empty alley.

 

Their lips attached together, moving sloppily against each other. He made out with the girl for two minutes, grinding his crotch on her thigh while at it. He motioned towards his dick, and she got the hint. She lowered down to her knees, unbuckling his belt and lowering his zipper. She took his dick out of his underwear, giving it a few rubs before sliding her lips around it. Harry stifled moans, running his hands in her hair. His elbow rubs against his stomach, feeling the hard metal inside and remmbering that he had to kill her.

 

He reached in his pocket, gripping the gun in his palm and pulling the girl of his dick. She didn't see it coming when she was pulled off so suddenly and something cold was pressed to her forehead and a loud bang was heard and her body fell back. Harry stuffed himself back in his pants along with his gun, looking around to make sure no one was around before casually leaving the alley as if nothing happened.

 

When he walked for a while, Harry checks his watch, seeing that it was 11:56PM. He looks up to the first building that he sees, which happens to be the library. Fuck it, he decides, running across the empty road.

 

Louis Tomlinson was sitting at the back of the library, reading the same bookthat caught his eye about four hours ago. He knew he had to leave soon and go back to his own house, but this book was very interesting and he didn't have his library card (his library card was eight years old, he thinks he needs to update it) with him because he was going to Taco Bell and who takes library cards to Taco Bell? He stopped by the library because he hasn't been in here since his old high school days.

 

He was on the 147th page when he heard a sudden scream - two screams, actually - before two gun shots were fired. Louis fliched, his heart beating as he threw the book down and crawled under the table the he was sitting upon before he moved to the floor. His heart was beating fast as he moved to the end of the table, his back leaning against the wall. He heard heavy foots steps walking around the front of the library. He pulled his knees up to his face; why was their a killer in the library? He thought. His hands were shaky as he wrapped himself in a ball under the table.

 

The building was silent for at least three minutes, Louis assumed he left but he wasn't taking chances. He slowly stretched his legs out, crawling to the end of the table to peak out. He craned his neck over the tables surface, that's when he saw a man in a black hoodie with the hood over his head and his left hand was holding a pistol gun. Louis watched with silence as he looked around the desk and mainly the front area of the library. The man gave up, kicking at what Louis assumed was the body of the dead librarian before heading towards the door. He was reaching for the handle, Louis was ready to exhale when Louis' phone made a shrill ringing noise. Louis whimpered, immediately crawling back under the table and reaching in his pocket to turn down the volume. He cursed himself for being so stupid; for having is ringer on in the first place!

 

He heard the heavy footsteps head towards the back, where he was. Louis' eyes were tearing up because, fuck, he was going to die. He held his breath, hiding himself behind his knees. The footsteps got closer and Louis forced himself to shut his eyes tight, feeling tears roll down his cheek. The footsteps were beginning to come louder and when they stopped, Louis opened his eyes, nearly screaming as he saw the legs of the killer at the end of the table, he dug his fingernails in his bare arms (because it was hot outside four hours ago), when the man dramatically walked around the table. Louis' heart felt like it could rip out of his chest and his hands were shaking.

 

Louis closed his eyes, this was it. He was going to die. He yelped when a cold hand gripped his ankle tight, screaming when his body was pulled out from under the table. Louis was crying now, letting fat tears roll down his face as his eyes avoided the mans'. The man gripped Louis' hair and tugged it, causing Louis to cry out and to fully get on his knees. Why isn't the man shooting him so sudden? He spoke too soon as he felt metal press against his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. Instead of dying, Louis felt a sharp pain on the side of his head, causing him to black out and fall into the mans' arms.

 

Harry thought this boy was to pretty to kill. Just knock him out and kidnap him, and he'd be yours forever, the voice said. So Harry did that; using his hand that held the gun to hit the side of his head, where the bullet was supposed to be. When the pretty boy falls over, Harry catches him before he could hit his head on the marble floor and possibly get a concussion and Harry wouldn't want that; the boy was too pretty to die. Well, he was too pretty to die by a concussion and not by Harry himself. Harry stood up, lifting the boy up with ease. Yes the boy was small, but he wasn't light. Harry let out heavy grunts and pants as he carried the boy out of the library, looking around to find the streets strangely empty. Of course they were empty, everyone's been feared by Harry; whom was known to others as just the crazy killer on the loose.

 

Harry carries him for four blocks; where he parked his car outside the pub parking lot. He curses as he sees red and blue flickering lights at the back of the pub, and the parking lot empty besides his car. He rushes to his car, which is quite hard when you're holding a boy who's not light and you're not so strong. He reaches his car, putting the boy on the dirty ground carelessly before digging in his pocket and pulling out his keys. He unlocks the car, opening the back seat and picking the boy back up and literally throwing him in the car. He slams the door closed, rushing to his diver seat, climbing in and shutting the door closed. He sticks his key in the ignition, twisting it and watching as his dashboard filled with lights and signals from the buttons and whatnot.

 

Harry made a U-turn, going out through the back. He drove past the back of the pub, not sparing a glance at the red and blue lights and the awful sirens. He drove down atleast 50 blocks, before he was on the main highway of Los Angeles. The highway was partially empty, so Harry drove fast, probably going past the speed limit, but this wasn't the first so.

 

Harry was on the other side of the city, the run-down side where the houses were cheap but were at least sound proof. Harry drove past a few houses that were similar to his own, before he came up to his house. He pulled in his driveway, turning the ignition off. He got out of the car, closing the door and going to the back. He opened the back door, pulling the boy out. He closed the door with his foot, locking his car and carrying the sleeping body in his house. He opened the front door, placing the unconscious body against the wall and watched him slump over to the side before going around his house, turning the lights on in all of the downstairs rooms. He debated where he should put the boy; either the basement or the big closet that was at least six squared inches on both length and width.

 

He decided the closet, because he actually skinned someone in his basement and there was dried blood on the concrete and all his weapons and whatnot are locked in a cabinet and this fucker might get into them and plot to kill him. He picked the boy off of the ground, heading up his creaking stairs, almost falling over. Harry might be insane, but he still thinks that he still has a bit of normality to him.

 

When he got to the top, he decided that the boy would need some new clothes (partially because he just wanted to see how he looks naked and if he was awake that obviously wasn't going to happen). He took him to his room, pushing the door open and turning the lights on. He took the boy and laid him on his messy bed, his legs dangling off the edge. Harry smiled before reaching up and peeling his white shirt off. Since he had light to see the boy properly he noticed that he had tattoos, some of them were similar to his own. He threw the shirt on the bed, his hands roaming on the smooth plane of the boys' stomach. Harry was sick. He grinned, moving down to his pants and popping off the button. Before he took his pants off, he noticed something in the pocket of his jeans.

 

Harry dug his fingers in the boys' pocket, fingertips brushing over what felt like leather. He pulled out a wallet, a smile forming on his face. He popped it open, taking the twelve dollars he had and stuffing it in his own pocket before flipping through the ID's. Name: Louis William Tomlinson. Age: 22. Date Of Birth: December 24, 1991. There was a picture of Louis on the card, his eyes blue and skin tan with fluffy hair. Harry saw a picture of "Louis" holding a baby with a blue hat and four other girls around him, one of the taller girls was holding a baby with a pink hat. Harry took the picture out, turning it around and reading the back: The Tomlinson Family 2014.

 

Stuffing the picture back in the wallet, Harry threw it on his bed where Louis' shirt was. His attention was brought back on the shirtless, unconscious boy in front of him. His fingertips were looping around the hem.of the pants and he pulled them down, exposing soft, tan, squishy thighs. He pulled them down until they were fully off, flinging them to where his clothes lay. Louis' boxers where grey and tight and it made Harry a bit unstable but he controlled himself. He touched the soft skin, running his hands over the squishy flesh and realized that Louis didn't have just a pretty face, he had a pretty body.

 

Harry stood up, fixing his pants and exhaling as he went to his closet. He looked around, pulling out a grey jumper that was two sizes too big for himself, he wondered how Louis would look in just that. The jumper was simple and grey, Harry doesn't know why he bought it. He went back to Louis. He rolled up the shirt at the collar, lifting Louis' head up and tugging it over before struggling to put both hands in the arm holes. He tugged the shirt over his stomach, grinning at how long it went up to; Louis' thighs.

 

Once he got Louis dressed he picked him up once again. He took him to the big closet that was right next to his room, opening the door and setting him down in the corner. He made sure there was nothing else in the room before going to his room to retrieve the small pink blanket that one of his female victims had with her a few months ago, going back to the closet and spreading it over Louis' legs so he wouldn't be cold. Harry stood up, seeing how cute and small Louis looked. He wanted to see him cry and beg before he was laying in a pool of his own blood but the voice said to keep him and the voice was never wrong.

 

Harry flicked the light off, closing the door and locking it with the pad lock before going back to his own room. As he changed out of his clothes and into cleaner ones he thought about Louis and what made him so special from the other people he's killed. Why the voice wants him to keep him. He laid on his bed, kicking off Louis' things and pulling the covers over himself. He didn't want to think too much so he eventually forced himself to sleep.


End file.
